Page 69 of Storm of Shadows
“I hear there are a handful among the shadow weavers. All of them male. There are no female shifters in this year group.”
“And … are they all wolves or are you going to tell me that raven that nearly shit on my head this morning was also some asshole shadow weaver?”
“As far as I know, only wolf shifters, but I guess, in theory, there could be others.” She chews on a piece of bread. “Although not the ravens. They belong to the academy – story goes they’ve been here since the first foundation was laid.”
“They give me the creeps,” I say.
“Me too,” Fly agrees. He shivers, then begins to chuckle again. “I can’t believe you got it on with a wolf.”
“I did not get it on with a wolf.”
“That is definitely how rumors start,” Clare warns.
Chapter Thirty-One
Briony
We’re due another lesson down in the dungeons after lunch and I don’t know how I feel about it. Part of me is excited to see Fox Tudor again. He knew my sister. He remembers her. He may know what happened to her. He may have information.
Then again there’s something about him which makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. He’s so different from how he was before. Is that the academy? Has it slowly worn him down – made him that bitter, grouchy man? I don’t see why. I’ve never heard of someone from the Slate Quarter being awarded a job at the academy. I also had no idea Fox Tudor – the golden boy from our Quarter– had magical abilities; strong magical abilities. You’d think news like that would be all over Slate Quarter.
As we shuffle into his classroom later that afternoon, he’s hanging back, lingering in the shadows once again, almost invisible. I strain my eyes to try and make him out but all I seem to see is his eyes glowing in the darkness.
“Why’d you think he keeps hidden?” Fly whispers into my ear. “Do you think he’s some hideous beast with boils and weeping sores?”
“Anything but,” I mumble. Fly peers at me with curiosity but he doesn’t get a chance to quiz me.
“Sit,” the professor commands us all. I grab my space on the bench beside Fly. I’m way more invested in this lesson than I was before. About a million times more. Fox Tudor was special back home – talented, good-looking, popular. But he was just an ordinary boy from ordinary parents. Just like me. Just like my sister. And yet somehow he has the ability to weave the shadows.
In the previous lesson, everyone was so determined that shadow weaving power could only be inherited. And yet a boy from the Slate Quarter has that power.
“Last lesson,” he says, “we talked about feeling for the ability to wield shadows in your blood. This week we are going to see if any of you can find that ability and can use it.”
Just like last time, there is more groaning from the shadow weavers in the front row.
“Can’t we be excused from this bullshit?” one of them asks. He’s one of Odessa’s protectors and I think his name is Kratos.
“You have no desire to help your fellow subjects identify such a power?”
“What’s the point? We all know those losers don’t have any.”
“The realm can always benefit from more shadow weavers,” the professor continues. “If there is even one among the students, we can not afford to miss them. After all, the safety and stability of our realm depends on it, does it not?” To my ears, his voice appears to drip with sarcasm. But maybe that’s just me, because everyone else nods enthusiastically like this is the gospel truth. “Pair up,” he instructs, “and listen to my instructions.”
“Wanna be my buddy?” I ask Fly.
“Hmmm,” he says, scratching his chin, “you smell a lot like wet dog.” He winks at me. “Or is that wolf?” he whispers.
I elbow him in the ribs. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Fine,” he says, teasing me. “But if you do have any shadow weaving abilities, do not blast me with them.”
I smile half heartedly. “As if.”
“When you’re ready,” the professor snaps, and I can’t help but spin round in my seat to face the front.
“The first and hardest step is to beckon the shadows out of your blood and into the air. Once you’ve conquered this part, wielding the shadows is relatively easy in comparison, although some have more skill in it than others.”
“Beckoning the shadows from your blood is not hard,” one of the Smyte twins sniffs. “It’s as easy as breathing.”
